


wish upon your numbered breaths

by Kiseia



Category: DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Massages, No editing we die like mne, Smoking, almost gen, damn Jason you're thirsty, in which the author thinks way too hard on the technicalities of Roy's prosthetic arm, this is no longer almost gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-09-07 11:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20308405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiseia/pseuds/Kiseia
Summary: "What are you doing up? It's—" he thinks back to the too-bright numbers glaring up at him from his phone, "—almost three in the morning.""It's nothing," Jason says, turning his eyes back to the city. "Go back to sleep."Like hell he will.--They're partners. A team. They won't stand by and let each other run themselves ragged.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMermaidLord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMermaidLord/gifts).
  * Inspired by [a heart just can't contain all of this empty space](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18290129) by [TheMermaidLord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMermaidLord/pseuds/TheMermaidLord). 

> so some time ago themermaidlord and I were talking in the comments of their fic, and i went back and re-read them a few days ago, and thennnnn this just. happened.
> 
> (one day I will write something that's not jayroy. or I will and I'll actually let them be happy ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯)

"Jason?"

It isn't quiet here. It never is, not in the big cities that they both prefer for different reasons. But now is probably about as close as it gets, early enough in the morning that the sky is still black behind the ochre-stained clouds. Only the sound of distant traffic cuts through the electric hum of streetlights, an ever-present bassline thrumming through the city like a heartbeat. Jason is painted over it all, slouching over the balcony railing with a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers. For a moment it seems like he won't answer, and then he shifts, turning so that Roy can just barely see the glimpse of one electric teal eye.

"What." His voice is flat and atonal, turning his question into something more cold. It's too hot for it, but Jason still has a shirt on and probably armour under it, too, hiding his scars from view. There's grit in his voice like he's been standing out here chainsmoking for hours, except Roy knows that can't be true. There are no butts littered on the ground around him, and besides, he's never actually seen Jason smoke any of the cigarettes he lights up.

"What are you doing up?" His voice is almost as low as Jason's, husky from the lack of sleep. He rubs at his eyes and stifles a yawn, closing the distance between them. Unlike Jason, Roy's only got his boxers on right now, baring his scars and skin to the world. The balcony feels pleasantly cool against his bare feet, heavy air pressing down hot and humid against his shoulders. Already, he misses the a/c running in the room behind them. Traveling with Jason and his resources has him too used to all these little luxuries. "It's—" he thinks back to the too-bright numbers glaring up at him from his phone, after waking up to find the bed half-empty and cold, "—almost three in the morning."

Jason stares at him, eyes glowing bright like a cat's. It almost makes him tense until he remembers that's just the ambient glow from whatever residual magic is left from the Pit. Dim enough that it's usually hard to see, except at night with all the lights turned off or if something pushes Jason into a berserker state. Roy's seen more of the former, but the latter… well, it makes an impression. Enough so that he makes it a goal to never let Jason get angry, if he can help it.

"It's nothing," Jason says, turning his eyes back to the city. "Go back to sleep."

Like hell he will. It's not meant as a command, but it's said similar enough that it makes him bristle anyway. Pointedly, Roy leans against the railing, mirroring Jason's posture. "What, and leave you out here to brood by yourself?"

"I'm not—" Jason catches himself and snorts, shaking his head. "Whatever," he says dismissively. "See if I care."

Jason isn't looking at him. Barely seems to care, in fact, that Roy is out here right now standing with him, and Roy narrows his eyes, almost ready to take back his offer. If Jason insists on being _difficult_—but no. Being ignored is the fastest way to set him off, and Jason knows this. And if he's learned anything from gallivanting around the globe with him for the past few months, it's that Jason never does anything without reason, no matter how hard he tries to make it look the exact opposite.

So Roy takes him in. The worn slope of his spine, the hunched set of his shoulders, the dark circles sagging beneath his eyes. Tries to think back to the last time Jason slept or got up before him, and then the last time he saw Jason _sleeping._ He needs less of it than he does do, which, Roy doesn't know if that's a _Pit_ thing or a _Jason_ thing—but he's pretty sure that he still needs _some._ Needs more than he's getting, at any rate, and probably should've gotten it two weeks ago.

Guilt gnaws at his stomach, chasing away the building irritation. He should've seen it already. Should've already known. They're partners, aren't they? Partners should know these things. Know all the little shifts in behavior that point to something being wrong.

But what even _are_ Jason's tells? Roy doesn't know. Sometimes, it feels like the things he knows about Jason can be counted on one hand (well, maybe two) (… maybe) while the number of things Jason knows about _him_ can fill out a book. And it's not even that Roy _talks_ more, and it's not even about how goddamn cryptic Jason can be sometimes, it's just.

He's never thought of himself as sheltered before, not until he met Jason. Ollie never bothered shielding him from the harsh truths of the world, and then, after Ollie, there was no one _to_ shield him. But some of Jason's demons Roy can't even name, can't even see except for the shadows they cast over him. In comparison, Roy feels clumsy and small, stumbling to catch up with what Jason already knows. Clumsy and naked beneath his searching gaze, spilling out ten unintentional truths with every word he says, and he just wants Jason _here._ He just wants Jason here, with him, not lost inside his head or lost inside his memories or lost within who knows what, thinking of Batman or the Joker or his own death when Roy is standing right here.

"Give me that," he says, reaching for the cigarette that's almost burning Jason's fingers.

Jason gives him a look, brows arching in question, before he wordlessly hands it over.

Roy takes it and breathes in a drag, feeling the rush of instant calm that made him put out the first one he tried. Addiction runs in the blood, after all, and he can still bring up the vivid image of the puckered scars on Will's forearm. He'd warned him against making a habit out of any substance that can alter his mind. Said that their brain chemistry is skewed towards addiction, towards seeking out any kind of rush, but Roy figures that's true for anyone in the business. And he thinks that if Will were more honest with himself (shockingly, Roy's got him beat in that department), he might admit that loneliness had a lot to do with it. From what he'd gathered, Will had spent all those years searching for him mostly _alone,_ and that has to take its toll on even the most resilient people.

Thin tendrils of smoke curl from his parted lips. He tips his head back and breathes out the acrid air sitting inside his lungs, feeling the heady rush of having Jason's attention. Doesn't turn to meet his gaze, because if he does then Jason might stop and lately he's been craving the familiar weight of his eyes a little too much. Just takes another drag and kneels down, putting out the cigarette against the balcony.

"Shouldn't do that, you know," Jason says, and he doesn't look away this time when Roy meets his eyes. There's a ring of too-bright green strung around his pupils, veins of the same shade shooting through his iris like lightning through a storm cloud. "Heard it's bad for you."

"Lots of things are bad for me." He stands up, slowly, listing to the side because he's too used to having his mechanical arm as a counterbalance but it's not on right now. "I could do worse." He reaches out, clutching at Jason's arm ostensibly for balance. It's a transparent ploy, but Jason doesn't shake him off, so he counts it as a win.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Harper." He's not smiling, but he doesn't pull away, either, when Roy starts pulling him back towards the open door. There's still the cast of tiredness to his voice, to his _everything,_ but Roy thinks that it means something, the fact that Jason even lets him see it.

Sometimes, he wonders if he's missing something. Wonders if Jason will taste like smoke if he kisses him, and then wonders if he should even be thinking it at all. It feels too similar to what Will warned him about, this giddy rush of affection he feels whenever Jason looks at him, whenever he lets himself be anything less than completely in control.

Maybe there's a reason why Will holds so strongly to his independent streak.

"Come on," he says, knowing it's too late. And if he's falling, well—the worst it'll do is bring him closer to Jason's level. Maybe then he won't be so scared to touch him all the time, won't be so scared to act on that interest that Roy can _see_ brimming under the surface. "Let's go back to bed."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roy is Stubborn, and Jason has to figure out how to disarm him.
> 
> (That is a very clever pun, which you will realize once you start reading the chapter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thiswasnotsupposetohaveasequel.png
> 
> Fun fact, I started writing this from Roy's perspective and then I realized I couldn't do it because his whole POV is just *BI PANIC*
> 
> (not that Jason is doing much better, tbh. they are both Very Gay and Very Useless)

"You even move since the last time I saw you?"

"Not now, Jason," Roy says distractedly, not looking up from the table he's refurbished as his temporary workbench. At one end lies Jason's helmet, looking gutted and naked without its chassis. Its inner components mix with the ones from Roy's mechanical arm that he's dissecting with one hand, frowning like it's personally wronged to him. To Jason it all looks like a mess of spare parts, but Roy can probably tell the difference. Roy can probably put them both back together in time for them to go out tonight, if anything comes up that requires their attention.

It won't. Probably. This safehouse was bought with Talia's money back before he'd made himself known to the Bats, and to the bigger vigilante scene at large. No one should be able to find them here. Maybe not even Talia herself; it's not like she micromanages his purchases, or his properties, and he has no idea how often she checks the accounts she gave him that for some reason he still has access to. Not that he needs them; most of his properties are paid off in full, and he's got his own sources of income. They have the chance to lie low for a couple of days and take a breather, and they're going to take it, no matter how much Roy insists that he doesn't need one.

The bandages winding around the stump of his right arm beg to differ, covering blisters and burns from overuse of the plasma laser at their last mission. Far as he can tell, the design for Roy's prosthetic arm is too streamlined for there to be a built-in cooling system, but maybe they can get a detachable one for the future. The thing about machines is that they all make heat, including the ones that are attached to people. There are vents built into the side to facilitate cooling, but, as demonstrated by last week, the cooldown period takes too long when they get ambushed by ninjas out of fucking nowhere.

Fucking ninjas.

He can ask Tim about it later, if he can get Roy to agree. Probably can, with some convincing; Tim seems to get along well with his friends, the ones that are on the junior Team, and Roy might be a hardheaded dolt but so is Jason. Besides, he's sure that he can eventually get Roy to agree that the greater efficiency and fewer injuries is worth the momentary blow to his pride.

Probably.

Then again, he does have a _lot_ of it. Pride, that is.

"You making something fun?" Jason asks, peering over his shoulder, and Roy jumps, almost smacking him in the stomach.

"Don't _do_ that," he snaps, turning to glare at him. Jason makes himself quiet out of habit, and it's lead to more than a few close calls during their time working together. No one in the business likes being snuck up on, especially people like Roy who are more used to working alone.

"Sorry," Jason says, surreptitiously trying to figure out what he's even _doing._ Far as he can tell, there's nothing new added to the scattered components on the table, but it's not like he's too familiar with the inner workings of Roy's arm, either. He doesn't tend to disassemble it unless something's not working, or the vents need to be cleared out.

"You need something, Jason?" Roy asks once it's clear that Jason has no intention to move. "I'm sort of in the middle of something."

"Yeah, I see that." No surprise; he's _always_ in the middle of something. "Doing what?"

"None of your business," Roy snaps, testy and irritable like a hissing cat. "Just leave me alone, okay? I'm busy."

Busy getting nowhere, it seems. Jason leans back and watches for a bit, the sharp, shimmering anger pushing against his skin, the way he keeps listing to one side and then jerking himself back, unused to not having a counterweight on his right side. Each time it happens, the tension in his back winds tighter and tighter, reminding Jason of a too-tight spring that's about to snap. And despite Roy's reticence, Jason can hazard a guess. There's nothing Roy hates more than being sidelined, even moreso than Jason, and if there's a problem then he'll try damn well to fix it.

Even if it's something that can't _be_ fixed. Even if he's been working at it for two days straight, winding himself up so much that it's clear he's going to break something if he keeps this up.

There's nothing on that table that they can afford to break right now. Quietly, Jason steps forward and puts his hand on his shoulder, and Roy goes rigid beneath him. At least this time he doesn't try to hit him, subconsciously still aware of Jason's presence even if his conscious mind is occupied with other tasks. "What," he bites out.

"You're tense," Jason tells him, rubbing the unyielding muscle beneath his hand.

A slow breath in. Roy tries to not snap at him, despite his temper, and Jason appreciates it even when he knows that it's probably just because he doesn't want to induce another Lazarus flare. "Look," he says. "Just let me finish this, alright?"

Jason hums, other hand settling on his opposite shoulder. They're unevenly muscled, right side bigger than the left to account for the extra weight he has to carry. "Sure," he says. "I'm not going to stop you."

"Then what are you doing?" Roy asks, still stiff and strung tight beneath him and so close to the point of breaking.

Jason hums, digging his fingers into tense muscle and rubbing in circles to try and get them to ease out of their tight hold. "Just relax," he murmurs, pitching his voice low and soothing.

A shiver crawls down his back. Roy makes a soft sound and sways forward over the table, and Jason is almost scared that he might fall until he drops the screwdriver he's holding and braces himself with one hand. "You know this is weird, right?" he asks, his voice coming out small and tight.

Jason pauses, hands framing the inner curve of his shoulderblades. "I can stop," he offers.

A second passes. Two. "Just saying," Roy mutters, dipping his head to give him more space to work with.

Jason bites his tongue. There's a small sliver of skin peeking above the neck of his shirt, the perfect shape for his mouth, and he has to resist the urge to lean down, suck a mark onto that pale, freckled skin. Maybe… maybe this isn't a good idea, because Roy is so warmth beneath him, relaxing little by little as Jason works on his back until he's practically _melting_ into his touch, and it's so, so hard not to push further, slide his hands under the thin fabric of his shirt and see what other noises he can draw out of him aside from those soft grunts.

Probably just a long litany of Roy cussing him out. This is about as far as he can push outside of his fantasies, and it's already further than what he expected. They've touched before, countless nights spent stitching up each other's injuries while bathed in dim light and shadows, but not like this. Roy, flighty and fickle about physical contact, about the company he keeps, letting Jason touch him when he doesn't have to, sighing like it feels _good._ Baring his neck like there isn't a trained killer at his back, like Jason isn't practiced in death and he's not without his biggest weapon right now.

"You're good at this," Roy breathes, and Jason feels a flush of heat at his words, or maybe the sigh that follows. Even his voice sounds more relaxed, almost resigned, defeated to be dragged down from whatever high he's been riding on for the past two days.

"Didn't think you'd have enough experience to know." Not unless he'd developed a taste for massages as a teenaged boy in the brief second he'd spent as Queen's ward.

Another soft sigh. "Guess you're right." Roy tilts his head and pins him with those eyes like summer skies. Coloured like ice but they're never cold, never dull, always brimming with heat and life. "Are you saying you actually suck, then?"

"… I never said that," Jason mumbles, feeling tongue-tied and awkward. Resolutely, he stares down at his hands, not letting himself think too hard on just _what_ he's doing and _who_ he's doing it to. The last time he did this was with Talia, her bare back glistening with oil beneath his sure hands, but Talia never made his heart feel like it's skipping out of his chest. Never made him want to drag his teeth down every vertebrae from his neck to his hips, drag his tongue over all that hot skin and see what noises he can tease out with his fingers and his mouth.

Yeah. This is definitely a bad idea.

With some reluctance, he makes his hands still, but can't bring himself to pull them away just yet. "Come on," he says, dipping his head and speaking next to his ear. Another shiver, and god, Jason _wants,_ wants with such hunger winding around his mind, sinking its teeth into every part of him that yearns until they all ache with the same pain. "There's takeout."

Roy frowns. "But—"

He rolls his eyes, resisting the urge to just pick him up and carry him out the damn door. "Jesus, Harper. It'll still be here when you're done, alright?" His thumbs rub one last soothing circle into his skin before dropping away, before he finally forces himself to step back. "Look, I'll even help you."

Roy stares at him, and Jason's half expecting him to tell him to fuck off again, leave him to what he's doing. "I don't—" he starts, and pauses. "You want to?"

It doesn't come out as flippant as he probably intended. Roy's never had to pare himself down for anyone before, and it shows in all his sharp edges scratching against Jason's, in the honesty bleeding out of every pore. In the way that he can't seem to make himself smaller, dimmer than what he is, or lie to save his life. Not against the people who know him, at least, and Jason is probably the only one who does right now.

It shouldn't feel like such an honour.

He shrugs and glances away, unwilling to look Roy in the eyes right now. "Yeah," he says. "Sure, why not? It's not like I have anything better to do."

Slowly, Roy nods. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, okay."

Well, that's over with. Jason's done his good deed of the day. "Come on," he says again, pulling himself away, already missing Roy's warmth. "You made us waste enough time."

Roy makes an indignant remark, and Jason hides his grin, leading them both out the door.


End file.
